Reason
by eclipsed heart
Summary: What had she done wrong? Ginny should've realized that Harry would, of course, do the stupid, noble thing, as he always did, he couldn't help it. She should've been able to stop him. But now, it was too late. The Boy Who Lived was at last dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. Oneshot.


AN: Once upon a time, some years ago, I wrote a crappy Harry Potter fic (don't look it up). I hope this one is a major improvement.

So, before we begin, I cannot take full credit for this. It was inspired by several things, one of them being the actual HP books. Other inspirations include two pictures I found on Facebook, on the Common Room's page. One of these pictures was a confession about Ginny, saying something like, "I wish the movies had shown how strong she was." The other was kinda funny, showing a comparison between Bella Swan and Ginny and what they did when the loves of their lives left them for safety. (Bella's was like, "I tried to kill myself" among other things, and Ginny's said, "I tried to steal the sword of Gryffindor, I restarted the DA, and I fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.") This all led me to wonder if there was ever a moment in which Ginny was _not_ strong, or at least didn't want to be. And I figured that if there ever were such an instant, it would be this.

Enjoy.

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Reason

For a reason she couldn't quite understand (for she ceased to understand reason hours ago), Ginny Weasley's mind was not where it should have been. It was not in front of the marble staircase, the only staircase in the castle with the sense to stay still, surrounded by her battered comrades, friends, and family, shuffling along sluggishly towards the outside, where no doubt Death Eaters lay in wait, along with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That was not where she was, not at all. Instead, her mind was down by the Black Lake, enjoying some pleasant weather with none other than Harry Potter. The two of them were stretched out on the grass near the water, laughing about something, though she wasn't quite sure what. It didn't matter; the laughter shone in Harry's bright green eyes as he looked at her, ushering a swarm of butterflies into her stomach, as his gaze had done to her for seven years.

Seven years. Somewhere, she realized that that was a very long time. A long time to be thinking about this boy with messy black hair and lightning-shaped scar. A very, very long time. But that didn't matter to her. As long as he was looking at her, smiling at her, she knew he was okay. He was alive.

Truthfully, this mind-wandering was something she had done more often in the past few months than she'd ever like to admit. Whenever things were going bad, she would remember when they were better. She would remember Harry, the way he would look at her like she was all that mattered, even though they both knew there were so many other things to worry about. And so, whenever she found herself worrying to the point of implosion, she saw his unworried face in her mind, took a deep, steadying breath, and approached her situation calmly and rationally.

That was only one of the habits she had established during this year, her sixth at Hogwarts. Others included watching Neville's back (because he was often more reckless than she was), doing her best to tune out the names recited on Potterwatch (though every familiar one popped out at her like a jack-in-the-box, despite her best efforts), and hoping. She did a lot of hoping. Every morning, as she woke up, she hoped that it would not be the day the Carrows caught her. She hoped that Neville's wounds wouldn't be so deep this time. She hoped that she would not hear the name "Weasley" on Potterwatch, just the voices of her brothers. She hoped she wouldn't see another first year crying in the hallway, wishing he didn't have a single drop of magical blood in his veins. But above all else, she constantly hoped that Harry was somewhere safe and warm, that he had enough food in his belly, and that maybe he would even find something to smile about today. Because everything was fine as long as Harry was all right. With Harry around, things would find a way to get better. So, always, in the back of her mind (or maybe the front of it, she wasn't quite sure which was which, especially at this moment), she hoped that Harry was okay. And she even foolishly hoped that she would see him again someday, and that maybe then they could love each other.

But those were all just hopes. Ginny could not survive on hope alone. That was why she took action. While she'd been at Hogwarts, along with Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Hannah, Ernie, and others, she restarted Dumbledore's Army. She worked to protect her fellow students (even those she did not particularly like) from the wrath of the Carrows. She sabotaged Snape's efforts whenever possible and doable and not suicidal. She was a fighter, and she wouldn't sit back and watch the Dark Lord take Hogwarts. If she ever saw Harry again, she would make sure she had something for him to be proud of, because it was all for Harry, every bit of it. And every night as she lay down to sleep, she saw his face behind her eyelids, and she hoped that he had made it through the day, just as she had.

But tonight, there would be no hoping. No, she didn't think she would ever hope again, because there was just too much doubt as her mind found its way back to where it belonged. That was the only thought she could free before her skull was filled with a piercing noise. No one else seemed to hear it, though everyone wore an expression of disbelief, horror, and hopelessness, seeing the proof of the Dark Lord's most recent words.

All was lost.

As the screams filled her being, grating against her eardrums until she was sure that blood was trickling down her the sides or her neck, she shut her mouth firmly. The shrieks were traveling through her, preparing to exit her mouth and become real. But she couldn't let them. No, she couldn't. Screaming, mimicking the screech inside of her, would make this moment far too real. If she screamed, it would surely carry her out of this dream, but then she would be sure to remember it after she woke up, and this was a dream she did not want to remember. Besides, if she were to scream, it would alert everyone around her to her despair. They would see that all this time, Harry was her reason, and she no longer had a reason for anything at all. They would see that she was not as strong as they'd thought.

The crowd around her stopped moving. In some distant part of her, some part that was quiet, not yet flooded with her screams, she registered that she was standing beside Neville, Neville who had changed so much. On her other side, her shoulder just barely brushed against Fleur's, but Ginny was so far gone that she couldn't find it in herself to be at all repulsed by her sister-in-law, as she usually was, though she had worked to tone down that repulsion in the last few months. Thankfully, Ginny didn't have to strain to see in front of her; she finally was close enough to have a clear view of the cause for all this. Voldemort himself, standing, grinning, his crimson eyes dancing sickeningly. And behind him, her greatest fear: Harry Potter, limp, unmoving, bloodied and bruised. Hanging in Hagrid's arms.

It couldn't be true. Yes, the Dark Lord had said so, but surely he must have been lying, because Harry Potter could not die, that could not be his body, right in front of her eyes. Of all impossible things in this world, the death of the marvelous Boy Who Lived was the most impossible. Of all the people who could have died on Hogwarts' grounds this day, Harry should have been the last, not from cowardice, but because every single witch and wizard who had fought against Voldemort through the long, bloody night should have been willing to take any curse—the Killing Curse included—in order to protect Harry Potter.

What had she done wrong? She should've realized that Harry would, of course, do the stupid, noble thing, as he always did, he couldn't help it. She should've known, should've been able to stop him. And now she was paying for her stupidity, seeing his body here, the light of the rising sun finding a way to glint against his crooked glasses, to make it look—for a split second—like he was winking at her. That notion led her back to the Black Lake, to the laughter they'd shared there, and for the first time, she questioned that scenario. Could it really be possible that at some moment in time, they _had_ sat in the grass together, admiring the way the sunlight reflected off the water, pointing out the ripples they saw, signs of the giant squid. Was that a memory or a fantasy?

And what about this instant, standing outside the castle, surrounded by friends and foes, the screech of fingernails scraping against the inside of her skull echoing through her being. Was this real? Or was she making it all up?

Ginny could hear nothing above the shrieks pounding in her ears. For a moment, she even doubted that her own heart was beating, because she could not hear it, could not feel it, and she doubted her heart could survive a blow such as this. But through her blurring vision (was it always this difficult to see?), she could make out Hagrid sobbing above Harry's body. In her peripheral, she saw Bellatrix Lestrange cackling, no doubt at someone else's misery. She felt more than saw her brother Ron take a step forward, gripping Hermione's hand in his, saw both their lips move in despair. And before her eyes, Voldemort was presenting Ginny with the reality that she didn't want to face, the only reality thus far that she did not want to face because she didn't have the strength to carry on. She couldn't do it.

She wasn't quite sure at first if it was her mangled voice issuing forth from her mouth, bumping its way along the insides of her throat. It couldn't be her voice screaming Harry's name, echoing the same screeches that had now filled her body to overflowing. She'd shut up her lips, not allowed them to move, but they'd found a way anyhow. And what was worse, were those—tears? Yes, they were. She was crying. It was just as she'd feared: Now everyone would know that she was weak, not at all strong as she'd tried to be these last few months. She wasn't nearly as strong as she'd pretended to be. All the strength she'd never had was dead in Hagrid's arms.

It was a lie, it was a dream, all of it, every last bit of it! That's what she told herself, even as the Dark Lord began to speak, even as Harry was placed at his feet. He was so close to her, she could make out the line of his scar, though she swore it wasn't as distinct as it had been mere hours ago. She could almost count his every eyelash. She wanted to reach out and brush his overgrown hair back from his face, run her fingers along the stubble that had sprouted on his chin, maybe kiss his lips one last time. Maybe then she'd be ready to let go of this dream.

Beside her, she felt a sudden vacancy as Neville stepped forward, defying Voldemort's words, whatever they were. There was noise, the Sorting Hat flying through the air, flames and swords and snakes, but none of the events of the next few seconds held Ginny's attention, because she saw something that she was not meant to see.

No, her eyes were not deceiving her. This was no falsehood. She really did just see Harry blink.

Corpses did not blink, unless they were enchanted corpses or Inferi, but Ginny didn't care about either of those. This was no enchantment. Harry Potter was alive, lying before her eyes, biding his time. She knew that, at the right moment, he would reveal himself and more than likely save them all, just like his stupid, noble self. It was something Harry would do.

And Ginny realized that until he chose to step forward, she had to fight. There was no other option. And her reason was quite simple: She would fight for Harry, whatever it entailed, whatever it meant. She would fight until the end.

For many years after, Ginny still did not have a full understanding of the events of that morning, ending in Voldemort's demise. For a long time, she would not know that Harry very nearly gave up the notion of killing the Dark Lord in order to save her, though her mother stepped in before Harry could. And she wouldn't know, not until she was very old, that as her husband went to die, he wanted to say goodbye to her. When he believed he was seconds from death, he thought of her. And when he was supposed to be dead, he almost ruined his plan to go to her and comfort her.

Only then would she realize that, through those worst of times and through the best of times following, she had been Harry's reason, too.

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REVIEWS are always appreciated.(:


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